stay where you are until I come to you."

"And where are you going now?" burst out Jack, overjoyed at reaching his
side.

"To luncheon, my dear boy! We'll go to Favre's, and have a stuffed
pepper and a plate of spaghetti an inch deep, after my own
receipt. Botti cooks it deliciously;--and a bottle of red wine, my
boy,--WINE,--not logwood and vinegar. No standing up at a trough, or
sitting on a high stool, or wandering about with a sandwich between your
fingers,--ruining your table manners and your digestion. And now tell
me about dear Ruth, and what she says about coming down to dinner next
week?"

It was wonderful how young he looked, and how happy he was, and how spry
his step, as the two turned into William Street and so on to the cheap
little French restaurant with its sanded floor, little tables for two
and four, with their tiny pots of mustard and flagons of oil and
red vinegar,--this last, the "left-overs" of countless bottles of
Bordeaux,--to say nothing of the great piles of French bread weighing
down a shelf beside the proprietor's desk, racked up like cordwood, and
all of the same color, length, and thickness.

Every foot of the way through the room toward his own table--his for
years, and which was placed in the far corner overlooking the doleful
little garden with its half-starved vine and hanging baskets--Peter had
been obliged to speak to everybody he passed (some of the younger men
rose to their feet to shake his hand)--until he reached the proprietor
and gave his order.

Auguste, plump and oily, his napkin over his arm, drew out his chair (it
was always tipped back in reserve until he arrived), laid another plate
and accessories for his guest, and then bent his head in attention until
Peter indicated the particular brand of Bordeaux--the color of the wax
sealing its top was the only label--with which he proposed to entertain
his friend.

All this time Jack had been on the point of bursting. Once he had
slipped his hand into his pocket for Breen's letter, in the belief that
the best way to get the most enjoyment out of the incident of his visit
and the result,--for it was still a joke to Jack,--would be to lay the
half sheet on Peter's plate and watch the old fellow's face as he read
it. Then he decided to lead gradually up to it, concealing the best
part of the story--the prospectus and how it was to be braced--until the
last.

But the boy could not wait; so, after he had told Peter about
Rut